


Friends (the one thing we're not)

by Andramion



Series: ask meme fic(let)s / tumblr prompts / drabbles [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst disguised as fluff, M/M, Rating subject to change, also a lot more short than i usually write, multi-chapter drabbles?, slightly more poetic than the way i usually write, tags will be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andramion/pseuds/Andramion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's become a habit: scooting over while Oikawa crawls under the blankets of Hajime's bed, sometime between when Hajime first closes his eyes and sunrise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secrets [1]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talli/gifts).



Unspoken, Hajime knows it's a secret:

The way it feels to have Oikawa's body pressed tightly against his own. The taste of his lips - the feel plush and pouty - when they say goodnight. The way they share their warmth under a single set of bedding.

Somehow, it feels like it's not actually happening, not when Hajime wakes up in the morning and Oikawa is all set to go, sitting on the foot end of Hajime's bed, smiling at him so brightly and saying _"Iwa-chan, you're always so late to get up, no wonder your hair looks like that"_ the same way he does every morning when he picks him up at the front door.

It's a secret, and that's okay.

Hajime just wishes that it wasn't treated like one between the two of them as well.


	2. Secrets [2]

Tooru wakes in the middle of the night to find Iwa-chan's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. When he tucks in his chin, he can just see the top of his head, cheek resting on Tooru's chest.

With a sigh, Tooru carefully shuffles the arm stuck under Iwa-chan's shoulder until he can move it freely. He brushes the tips of his fingers over the hot skin of Iwa-chan's back, finds himself relaxing into the warmth of Iwa-chan's body.

Somehow, it feels like it's not actually real: when Tooru cocoons himself in Iwa-chan's bedsheets. These moments they have - sharing the bed Iwa-chan's had since he was four, kissing lazily along each other's skin, the taste of Iwa-chan on his tongue - the moments feel like they could disappear at any time, like they aren't actually happening.

Yet, Tooru burrows himself deeper into Iwa-chan's embrace, revels in the feeling of _safe_ and _home_ he doesn't get anywhere but in this tangle of limbs - not between the silences and the eruptions of sound in his house.

When Tooru thinks of home, he thinks of earthy tones, wooden furniture and beige walls decorated with tattered Godzilla posters. He thinks of the single glow-in-the-dark star in the corner of the ceiling that he so graciously pulled out of the package he got for his seventh birthday and gave to Iwa-chan.

Even if he can't really see more than rough shapes now, he can clearly imagine the hanger with Iwa-chan's uniform hanging from the closet; the slightly cracked shelf along the wall, dipping in the middle because the box of rocks Iwa-chan collected had gotten too heavy for it. He knows this room better than his own.

And he knows Iwa-chan: the curl of his back as he sleeps all bundled up, the lilt of his voice when he - for once - is the one to tease Tooru instead of the other way around, the breathiness of his laugh when they race each other up the steps to Iwa-chan's room and the loser catches the winner around the waist, the way his frown relaxes the more Tooru closes the space between them.

Now, Tooru cranes his neck and brushes Iwa-chan’s hair aside with his nose, presses a kiss onto the smooth skin between his eyebrows. His leg, trapped under the weight of Iwa-chan’s lower body, is starting to fall asleep, but he doesn’t want to move. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the top of Iwa-chan’s head.

He likes the kinds of moments that are so dream-like, where there is no one to see how they fit into each other's space, where Iwa-chan isn't aware of Tooru's fingers slowly writing the characters of his name on the small of his back.

In the dead of the night, with the dark around him and the only sounds filling the room being his and Iwa-chan's collective breaths, it feels like a secret.

And Tooru wants to keep it a little longer.


	3. Habits [1]

It's become a habit: scooting over while Oikawa crawls under the blankets of Hajime's bed, sometime between when Hajime first closes his eyes and sunrise.

Tonight too, there's a hushed "Iwa-chan?" from the side of his bed that wakes him up halfway, enough to recognise the person standing there.

With a huff, Hajime throws one corner of his duvet off and makes space for Oikawa to lie down on his single bed with him. He keeps his back to Oikawa, but he can feel the dip of the matrass when Oikawa crawls into bed, the weight of an arm as Oikawa snuggles up.

The cool disappears and then it's just the two of them, warm, close, comfortable.

Hajime's chest feels tight.

"Thanks, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispers and the breeze of his breath hitting the side of Hajime's neck makes Hajime shiver.

"Sleep, I'm tired."

A smile pressed into his shoulder.

"Nightnight, Iwa-chan."

It's quiet for a while then, and Hajime waits for the thrum of his heart to hush too, but it doesn't happen.

Before it can, Oikawa shifts, presses up against Hajime more and his lips travel from shoulder to neck - not kissing, pressing, just a feather-light brush across Hajime's skin.

He wishes he hadn't written off the idea to wear a shirt to bed, just this night.

Because more than a habit, Oikawa's touch has become an addiction; the soft presses of skin on skin set Hajime aflame and leave him burning brightly hours after they leave the comfort of their shared space for the casual distance of day.

When he wakes up in the morning - forty minutes after his first alarm went off, keeping true to his reputation as a serial oversleeper - Oikawa sits at the foot of his bed. He's all smiles and teasing notes and Hajime wonders where the softness he has under the cover of darkness went.

In the mornings, Hajime shoves his bedsheets away and uses the five minutes it takes him to get ready to cast away the hazy memories of Oikawa's closeness, adjusts himself to the way he's supposed to behave in the daylight.

It means no more stolen glances, no "Tooru"s falling off his lips as Oikawa walks past his classroom on his way to the science lab.

Instead of greeting him with a hug, Oikawa deposits his behind on Hajime's desk during lunch period, until Hajime is the one to shove him off of it so he can actually eat, until Matsukawa and Hanamaki laugh at their "antics" while Oikawa whines about Hajime being a brute.

Oikawa flourishes when his friends are laughing, at ease, and Hajime wonders how much of the affection Oikawa shows him at night is a part of that.

Every day, he wonders. Every day, he tells Oikawa goodnight in front of their houses, and when he reaches his room, the first thing he does is unlock the sliding door to the balcony he shares with Oikawa. The partition between their halves of it had broken long ago - not capable of handling the weight of two children hanging off of it - and they'd never seen a reason to replace it.

Every evening, he silently invites Oikawa in by leaving that door unlocked at night, and every morning he wonders how much lighter his heart would be if he had kept himself from turning that key.

Hajime's fallen into habit and even though he's tried, he cannot seem to break it, for every touch, every kiss, every look, every single bit of affection Tooru shows him is a drop of water and Hajime is _parched_.

What he suspects, though, every time Tooru closes his arms around his back, nuzzles into his neck, kisses his cheeks and calls his name, is that he's less of a man left in the desert and more of an alcoholic looking for his fix.

And Hajime was never one for unhealthy habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IwaOi seems to be a lot harder to write for me than I'd expected. I love this pair though, and this story is dear to my heart, so I will most definitely finish it, just give me some time.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment down below, I'd love to hear your thoughts and you'd absolutely make my day.
> 
> [And here's some music to go with it: Koda - Shattered](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DM001LMYKuo)


	4. Habits [2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blankets of his futon are heavy, weighing down on his chest, but it’s the deafening silence in the house keeps him from falling asleep. His eyes are alert, muscles tense, eyes refusing to stay closed for more than a few seconds.
> 
> Instead, he glances at the door every so often, waiting for house to start up again.
> 
> It’s always like this: a bubble of quiet after each fallout, and the first to break it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features some heavier themes on the subject of Oikawa's home life, I wanted to make sure you know beforehand. Although it is not a happy home situation, I wanted to at least state there is NO physical abuse.

It’s been a while since he even tried to sleep in his own bed.

Tooru finds himself wide awake, staring at his ceiling. His glow-in-the-dark stars are so old they hardly shine anymore and he wonders how long it will take for the one on the wall above his door to fall down.

The blankets of his futon are heavy, weighing down on his chest, but it’s the deafening silence in the house keeps him from falling asleep. His eyes are alert, muscles tense, eyes refusing to stay closed for more than a few seconds.

Instead, he glances at the door every so often, waiting for house to start up again.

It’s always like this: a bubble of quiet after each fallout, and the first to break it…

It has taught Tooru to tiptoe, holding his breath has become a conditioned habit.

Once, a few years ago, his brother had told him “hey, Tooru, you know you’re always welcome here, right? You don’t _have_ to stay in that house.” His face had contorted as he said it, _that house_ , the place that he’d never call _home_ anymore.

Tooru can hardly picture his brother in the house they both grew up in anymore. It seems like every memory he shares with him was made outside of its confines: the park, swimming lessons, walks to and from school and volleyball lessons at the community centre, his brother scolding him and Iwa-chan after they got into trouble at school, a gentle hand on his skin as his brother takes care of the scrapes on his knees.

Tooru has never wanted his brother’s sympathy, worry, his pity, had always felt slightly guilty for making his brother come back to care for him for _years_ , but in that moment he’d been close to accepting the offer.

But Takeru was still so young, and he couldn’t impose on their family like that, couldn’t stay in their house as a reminder of the people his brother had already broken contact with. He’d sit it out, he’d hold on, “just a few more years,” he told his brother.

So Tooru learned to stay late at practice, to hang out at his friends’ house, to hole himself up in Iwa-chan’s living room, in Iwa-chan’s bed. Right up until he had to at least show his face to his parents, show them he was still alive so they could go back to ignoring each other until all hell burst loose again.

Tooru now knows how to lock his bedroom door so his mother doesn’t see his empty futon, he knows to make as little sounds as possible as he goes out the balcony and sneaks past the broken divider.

Behind the glass door that slides open as always, the curtains are drawn and the fabric is heavy against his skin as Tooru moves them aside to step into the room. There’s hardly any light inside, but Tooru knows his way around.

He steps around the pile of books next to Iwa-chan’s desk, follows the sound of Iwa-chan’s soft mumbling to the bed. As long as Tooru can remember, Iwaizumi’s had this habit: there are memories of waking up on the floor because Iwa-chan pushed him out of the bed, Tooru looking up to find Iwa-chan muttering incomprehensible words as he turns onto his other side.

He’s stopped moving so much at night, but the sleep talking hasn’t left.

Now that his eyes have adjusted again after the bright street lights outside their balcony, Tooru can see the shape of Iwaizumi under his blankets, curled up with his face towards the window.

Tooru squats in front of the bed, watching Iwa-chan’s lips move around unintelligible sentences, watching his eyelashes flutter as he dreams. His face is so soft like this, completely relaxed, and it’s a close second to Tooru’s favourite of his expressions. It doesn’t really matter that Iwa-chan’s also drooling onto his pillow.

With a smile on his lips, Tooru leans forward, resting his weight on the bed with his forearm, and presses a kiss to Iwaizumi’s forehead. He waits – eighteen seconds, he counts – until Iwa-chan turns onto his back and lets out a breath.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, quietly, and Iwaizumi opens his eyes to look at him for only a short moment, like he always does. With a huff, Iwaizumi scoots over to make space for him, and Tooru happily kicks off his slippers to fill it. The covers are warm and out of habit, Tooru slings an arm and a leg over Iwaizumi, curling himself around his back. The smell of Iwaizumi’s skin is so familiar it instantly rids Tooru’s body of most of the tension he’d felt since taking the first step into his house.

Softly, he presses his nose to the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, breathes in deeply to shake of that last of the stress, the cosiness of Iwaizumi’s room taking its place instead.

Iwaizumi is warm.

Tooru can feel the entire front of his shirt heat up with the glow of Iwaizumi’s bare skin and he presses closer to him, nuzzling the line of Iwaizumi’s trapezius from neck to shoulder and back. It’s always been his favourite spot.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, it’s before Iwa-chan’s alarm even goes off.

Tooru wipes the sleep from his eyes and softly loosens the grip he has on Iwa-chan’s arm, slides out from under the bedding and toes on his slippers. He looks back when before he opens the door, wondering what it would be like if he just stayed and spent the morning with Iwaizumi. Nicer, probably.

Easier, definitely.

With a sigh, he slips out to the balcony again, crosses over into his own room and unlocks his door with a soft click. Then he grabs his phone, plays his alarm and kicks his bin. The clatter the thin metal makes is probably enough to wake his parents up, it usually is.

It only takes him a few minutes to fold his blankets and roll up his futon, to stash everything into the closet. Another one before he’s ready to open his door and tiptoe to the bathroom. A few deep breaths before he comes out again, a moment before he looks up and looks his mother in the eye, a second before he can wish her a good morning and make an excuse about having to leave early to pull Iwaizumi out of bed so they can get to practice on time.

Does it really count as an excuse if he makes the same one every day?

He carries his shoes in hand when he passes back into Iwaizumi’s bedroom and doesn’t put them down when he sits on the foot of Iwaizumi’s bed. If he also sits on _Iwaizumi’s_ feet a little, he can’t really be blamed.

Again, it takes a while for Iwaizumi to wake up, groggy as usual in the mornings, even though Tooru knows his alarm has gone off at least three times already.

“I thought cavemen were supposed to wake up early,” he says, when Iwaizumi looks at him and frowns. “Hunts, biological clock and all that.”

All he gets is a grumbled “fuck off” as Iwaizumi throws off his blanket and stalks off to go through his dreadfully short morning routine and Tooru follows him down to the breakfast table when Iwaizumi gestures for him to.

Habit, routine.. it’s nice, knowing that when he comes downstairs, Iwaizumi-san will have a place ready for him. Somehow, the _normality_ of it is ridiculous, but that’s what it is exactly: normal. So different from the unpredictability that lives in every corner of his own home.

Tooru thinks he likes habits. It’s nice to have them, to see them in the people you know. The routine of the day – walking to school with Iwa-chan, working hard, joking around on the breaks – it’s a feeling he doesn’t know in the other side of his life, and the reason he even gets to experience it, is all Iwaizumi.

He’s not sure if people can _be_ habits, but having Iwaizumi around is at the very least a routine Tooru doesn’t want to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> If you liked the chapter, or if it made you think or feel anything, please leave me a comment, they FUEL me. I'm more than willing to answer questions too, as long as they don't spoil the plot.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> [The reason I started writing this, you ask?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Myaod6GC4U)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
